


Much More Molly

by Aris_Silverfin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Belly Kink, F/M, Weight Gain, dub con, fat kink, feederism, initially, perhaps a bit, rude young men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:03:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aris_Silverfin/pseuds/Aris_Silverfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a Prompt: Sherlock is getting tired of Molly getting attention from other men. Even though they're not together he takes it in himself to start surreptitiously feeding her. In the office, at home, eventually taking her to dinner. She doesn't realise for a long time until he stuffs her. He tells himself it's to keep another Jim situation happening and to keep Molly safe; but the more he does it, the more attracted HE gets to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Much More Molly

It was worse every time Sherlock came to the mortuary now. It was apparently intern season at the hospital and the result was that droves upon droves of young people were filing through the laboratories that had hitherto been only his and Molly's territory. Their chatter, babble, and at times disgusted exclamations thoroughly distracted him and kept Molly busy so that she couldn't help him acquire body parts.

He had arrived at the wrong time once again as a group of gawky twenty-somethings stood chattering around the table as Molly introduced them to the tools she used. Sherlock scowled and stood sulking in a corner, idly flicking through his phone and waiting for the rabble to leave. He huffed in annoyance as a trio of obnoxious young men wearing too much cologne wandered away from the group to his corner. They didn't seem to notice him. And they were being really quite rude in their comments about Molly. Sherlock felt his scowl deepen.

"Fuck, man, that round little bum right? You can see it through the coat when she bends over."

"Yeah, God I wish she weren't wearing that."

"Think we can get her to take it off, eh, Nick?"

"Give us a better look at those pert little titties too."

Sniggers and guffaws sounded. Sherlock growled. The boys finally noticed and looked back. They seemed to shrink under his glower and quickly dashed off to another corner. He could still see them though. Looking at his pathologist. Well, he'd have to do something about that.

When the students had finally moved on, Molly sighed and collapsed back onto a small stool. She jumped slightly with a bit of a squeak as Sherlock loomed out of the shadows.

"Oh- Sherlock! I'd forgotten you came in," she said, a small smile breaking out helplessly on her face, "What did you need? More blood vials or-"

"Dinner," said Sherlock shortly.

Molly blinked, her mouth opening slightly in confusion. "D-dinner?"

"Yes," added the detective, still glowering like a thundercloud. "Angelo's. Tonight."

"Oh." Molly flushed pink, a giddy sort of grin spreading across her face, "Okay. I-I get off in an hour."

"Fine."

And with that Sherlock swept out of the mortuary.

It turned out what Sherlock had actually meant was that he would show up at her flat with several cartons of pasta, push them into her arms, and then dash off again. Molly stood, dressed in a black dress and new shoes she'd been dying to wear, her arms full of hot Italian on the doorstep. She tried not to feel too disappointed. It was Sherlock after all. She quietly turned and brought the take away boxes back inside and shut the door. Then she took the food upstairs and figured she might as well eat it. Her cats watched her enviously, so she shared a bit of the Italian sausage slivers from the sauce.

Sherlock's odd behavior continued the next day. He brought her fish and chips for lunch, but didn't eat a bite himself. Molly started to find a takeaway deliverer standing at the door to her apartment every evening, food hot and already paid for. Then Sherlock began bringing her biscuits, chocolates, crisps, and cakes or sweets from Mrs. Hudson at work. She was always pleased to see him. He seemed politer nowadays, more attentive to her when she spoke. It was sweet... if a bit startling. Still, she happily accepted the gifts he bestowed on her and ate them.

Yes, Sherlock's plan was coming along nicely. The detective did wish that he could have more numerical data in regards to Molly's changing shape, but measurements might well alert her to his efforts before the desired results were achieved. He'd have to rely on qualitative data for now. He'd bring her a new treat every day and sit back, hands steepled under his chin as he observed her. Molly was rounding, her small petite frame filling out, becoming curvaceous. Her once flat stomach had rounded and softened into a little bit of tum that strained at her shirt buttons. Her blouses were looking less and less work appropriate as her breasts grew fuller, spilling over the top of her bra more often than not. No longer 'pert' or 'little' for much longer. Good. The detective also noted the change coming over Molly's rear end, watching it expand slowly, pulling at the fabric of trousers that were so very loose before Sherlock's help, her hips round and rolling, squeezed in under the waist band. Now whenever Molly wore a skirt, Sherlock kept finding himself increasingly distracted, watching it roll and shift under the light material, imagining, thick plump thighs rubbing- He always had to stop that line of thought quickly.

Molly was much better off now, so Sherlock told himself, less likely to draw attention. No more cruel disgusting interns, or the more dangerous psychopaths in disguise. No she blended in perfectly now.

Yet Sherlock couldn't seem to stop thinking about her. His eyes were drawn to her growing figure, her increasingly chubby cheeks every time he brought her a new treat. His entire mind palace seemed to have been reorganized to make room for a new plumper Molly Hooper. She had been in his dreams lately. A libido he'd forgotten he had suddenly returned full force. He would lay awake at night, thinking of her, plush and warm, pressing against to his own slighter figure, digging his long fingers into cushy, soft flesh. He couldn't go on like this. He knew it. Molly was bound to realize soon. Her buttons wouldn't hold for much longer.

That day finally came when Sherlock had exhausted other forms of feeding up his pathologist. He told John to go and visit Sarah for the evening, then begged Mrs. Hudson to cook a full three course meal. She was delighted if a bit confused to do it when Sherlock confessed that he was inviting Molly over. Still, the food was ready by the time Molly was set to arrive. Steaming bowls of creamy chicken and dumpling soup were sat at the kitchen table along with candles. A pork roast with carrots and buttery mashed potatoes sat in the oven waiting their turn. Dessert was stiffening in the refrigerator. Sherlock found himself oddly nervous, checking and double checking everything, fluffing his hair in the mirror again and again. The skull kept staring.

"Shut up," he growled, then jumped and whirled around as the doorbell rang. He dashed downstairs to meet her.

"Hello!" Molly says brightly. Sherlock's face slips into an easy smile, his eyes flicking over every inch of her. She's decided to wear her little black dress, though it's not quite fitting as it used to. Her round hips look squeezed into it and the materials stretched far too tight over her chest. Her belly jiggles visibly with movement as he walks indoors.

"Hello, Molly," Sherlock purrs in response. "I'll take your coat. Please, upstairs."

He follows her up, his mouth going dry as that ample bottom sways under her dress as she climbs the stairs. Then they are seated and chatting over hot soup and bread rolls. Sherlock plies her with a bit of wine and she accepts, her cheeks growing rosier. Sherlock finds himself oddly smitten.

Things go well, that is until Sherlock begins loading seconds of the main course onto Molly's plate while clearly neglecting his own.

She frowns down at the heaping portion put before her, then looks up at the detective.

"Sherlock..." she begins hesitantly, "Aren't-aren't you going to have more?"

"No, I'm saving some room for dessert."

"Oh-erm. Does that mean... maybe I should. I think it's best I save some room too then," she said, smiling shyly, "I'm already pretty full. This was wonderful, really, but I can't-"

"Of course you can," rumbled Sherlock, spooning more potatoes onto her plate, "We're far from your maximum capacity. I should wager you could even manage thirds as well as the dessert by now."

Molly flushed, but suddenly it wasn't just from the wine. Sherlock froze as he recognized the expression. Anger.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded, her voice cracking a bit, "What have you- Have you been? Oh God I'm such an idiot!"

Sherlock felt his heart crumple sickeningly. "N-No! Molly, listen-"

"Well what was it then? Hmm? Am I your next experiment?!"

"No, Molly, it was for your own good I-"

"WHAT?"

"Molly, please," begged Sherlock, and the sound of sincerity was enough to give her pause. He quickly rushed onwards. "I had meant to protect you by-"

"Making me fat? All this time, I thought you were just being nice," She looked horrorstruck and sickened as she looked down at her middle. An alarm seemed to blare through Sherlock's brain as tears welled in Molly's eyes. Not good. Very very not good.

"It didn't work," Sherlock said quietly.

"Well, it obviously did," snapped Molly, grabbing at her softened belly furiously, "Just look at me!"

Sherlock wet his lips, but tamped down his arousal.

"Molly, that's just it... you... you look-"

"Fat?"

"Delicious."

Molly looked up, eyes wide at that rumbled groan of a word.

"Er s-say that again?"

"Molly, I had planned to make you less conventionally appealing to the drooling hormone -addled students that visited, prevent another Moriarty stint, keep you safe," rumbled Sherlock, now standing and stepping very very close to her, his voice low and gruff. "I could keep you mine. And mine alone."

Molly swallowed visibly. "Er, okay... that sounds just a little..."

Sherlock was very close now, and Molly found she no longer cared. She tilted her head up hopefully. Sherlock kissed her once, just a light brush of the lips before the detective withdrew again.

"I realize now that it was wrong of me," he murmured, "I am sorry. I don't always... I'm not good at people... things."

"Sherlock, it's okay," said Molly gently, grabbing Sherlock's jacket lapel to pull him in again, "It's fine. I don't actually mind." She gave him a small nervous smile. "I actually... I like how I look now. I'd be glad to be yours. Just yours."

Sherlock blinked down at her incredulously. "Really?"

"Yeah. Now, do you think you could, maybe kiss me again?" she asked, shyly.

Sherlock happily obliged, sealing his lips to hers and responding with passion. Molly whimpered softly, allowing her lips to part beneath Sherlock's then feeling a warm wet tongue slip along hers, purposeful but gentle. In a matter of seconds she was breathless. Sherlock finally broke for breath, looking quite dazed himself. He wet his kiss-pinkened lips.

"Molly Hooper, I was wondering if I might offer you dessert."

She smiled, sitting up straighter in her chair again. She patted her stomach. "Oh I think so. After I finish the rest of this plate of course." She grinned and gave Sherlock a wink. The detective looked on hungrily, sliding his chair closer to rub at her belly as she filled it dutifully. Both were positively groaning by the end of the meal. Molly was full, soft, and sated. Sherlock was happy to provide her with belly kisses and tummy rubs, his long fingers moving gently, caressing every new inch of her. Both hoped there would be even more Molly Hooper around in future.


End file.
